Oh Right, I’m Living in Cairo

My first night in Cairo, a group of interns on my program, our surrogate mother and intern-coordinator extraordinaire Rowaida, my father, and I headed down to Cairo’s most popular bazaar, Khan al-Khalili, a market renowned for its crowds and vast displays of, well, everything: from ‘special’ intimacy products (knock-off Viagra anybody?), to shiny (and sometimes fake) jewelry, fruits, vegetables, and the appealing aromas of dead animals hanging from storefronts, Khan a-Khalili is alluring to be sure but also has an intimidating feel about it. “Don’t come here at night. It’s too crazy,” Rowaida warned me and my fellow interns as we entered the Bazaar.

It’s Ramadan now, which means a few things in Cairo. Muslims are forbidden to eat or drink during the month of Ramadan, (this year stretching from the 21st of August to the 19th of September), and wait anxiously for Iftar, the nightly break-fast around 6PM. At Iftar the city literally closes down; a usually bustling Cairo grows quiet, the constant beat of car-horns dissipate, and traffic pulls to a lull as families settle down to eat and shop-owners sit together outside, where they break the fast in unison.

And then, as quickly and suddenly as the city closes down, it explodes again. Storefronts reopen and stay open until 3 or 4 in the morning, people burst out into the street with newfound energy, traffic reemerges, and Cairo becomes Cairo again.

It was in this atmosphere, around 7:00 P.M, that we entered the bazaar—weary from a long flight but also excited to experience some real Egyptian culture on our first night in a new city and country.

And we did, but not in a way that I was really prepared for. My first image of Egypt, and one that still creeps into my memory a week later, is of a girl—no older than my 15 year-old sister—being smacked in the face and dragged across a street by her hair by none other than a police officer.

The whole scene was pretty shocking, and one that I couldn’t take my eyes off, despite Rowaida’s best efforts to distract us and keep us moving in the right direction. Perhaps the most striking image was watching the girl’s mother come to her defense, putting herself between the girl and officer and begging him to stop—only to be smacked in the face herself! And the people beside the girl, quietly watching or going about their business, either too scared or too used to watching this type of display. When I later asked Rowaida about the incident, she told me that from what she could infer, the girl had stolen something from a store-owner and was being reprimanded for her heinous crimes. Quite a punishment! A stern warning, or even a trip down to the police-station might suffice. But a public beating, with a bloody nose and a stream of tears to show? Perhaps the girl did steal. And perhaps she learned her lesson. But for a sheltered kid from east-coast suburbia, this was something new and entirely shocking.

Welcome to Cairo, I guess. Here’s to hoping the next new experience is a bit less troubling.